


Unwilling and Accidental

by HowardR



Category: Epithet Erased (Cartoon)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - No Powers, And Failing, Arson, Bisexuality, Blue Eyes, Broken Bones, Coffee, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eyes, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Late Night Conversations, Lesbian Character, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, Medical Conditions, Mera doesn't wanna be so gay for Molly, Mera is the best @ me, Mera is trying to not be cute, Mild Kink, Molly might have some weird kinks, Molly nominated for best girl award 2020, Nail Polish, Opposites Attract, Rare Pairings, Self Confidence Issues, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smile, Snark, Staring, Unwilling Attraction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:33:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25197751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowardR/pseuds/HowardR
Summary: Mera, age 27, was living her worst nightmare. Every day she woke up, she had to get ready with ginger movements, careful not to get a bruise - they were always nasty and dark, she tried to avoid them when possible. She had to ghost past people on the street, had to avoid bumping into them or risk serious injury.Molly, age 22, ran a shop she tried not to hate and wore a constant reminder of her dead mother.And then they met.
Relationships: Minor Molly Blyndeff/Bellatrix "Trixie" Roughhouse, Molly Blyndeff/Mera Salamin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. Prologue: Wake Up

**Author's Note:**

> All the credit goes to Jello, of course - please support him I want a season two so bad.

She woke up.

She rubbed at her eyes tiredly, blinking the sunrays away and waiting for everything to come into focus. It did, after a moment, and she sat up.

Her head pulsed with agitation. She ignored it.

She had a lot to do today, after all.

She mustered what little remained of her backbone and stood, still rubbing the crusted sleep from her eyes. She stifled a yawn.

She had stayed up till daybreak last night running the shop.

And now she had to work the morning shift.

She sighed slightly, trying not to think about how long she had been doing this.

A dozen years.

She cracked open some can or other and sipped at it, smiling only the tiniest bit when it turned out to be ginger ale. That certainly wasn’t the worst it could’ve been, though she  _ really _ could’ve gone for an ice-cold Brisk.

She stepped up after a long, hot shower, and grabbed her coat, slipping on the furry antique without a thought. She spent only the shortest moment in front of the mirror, flashing her reflection a sheepish smile and putting on a pair of colourful star earrings.

She stepped out with her brightest, fakest smile on her face, and tried to prepare herself for another day of helping customers and doing paperwork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just watched the finale. I wished so badly that there was more Mera that I needed to write a fanfic, apparently.
> 
> This is a ship that, apparently, doesn't exist yet - according to Ao3 tags, at least. I am determined to make it work despite that, because Mera and Molly are my favorite characters in the show (sorry Giovanni, love you too, but snarky nail polish girl and bear trap are the best).
> 
> Typing With Black Polished Nails,
> 
> -Howard R.


	2. Not to Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mera tries to remember a dream and takes a midnight walk, and Molly cancels on plans with Trix and ends up spending the night in instead.

_ “Not to worry, dear.” _

She woke up without a sound in the dead of night, and simply laid there for a long moment.

The bed was luxurious - of that, there was no doubt. There were drapes on either side, blocking out the world, and the sheets were silk. As in,  _ literal _ silk. They were smooth and flowing as water beneath her, caving deeply and ensconcing her in warmth. The window directly next to the bed was spilling midnight, and the glowing white liquid dripped past her drapes and onto her sleeping form. The colours were all dull, and somewhere in the easy spectrum of icy blue.

She laid there and tried to remember what her dream had been about.

The memory slipped in and out of her grasp, elusive as a shadow, and she vainly tried to chase it through the groggy fog of sleepiness. Some of the details were coming to her, now, and she was disappointed.

It wasn’t a good one. It very rarely was.

She slowly and gingerly sat up, one had coming up to rub at her eyes. It wasn’t that she needed to sit up gingerly, necessarily, but her muscles were weak-

_ (“She must be careful, especially in school. We suggest you do not let her play with other children - she could fracture something quite easily, and even if she didn’t, it’s quite likely she could damage a muscle or dislocate a joint.” _

_ She barely listened to the doctor, trying to focus on not crying as her life crumbled around her.) _

-and Doctor Treyton had suggested she be careful anyway. And besides, it had become a part of her lifestyle at this point - sitting down, laying down, getting up. All of these things she had learned to do slowly and carefully. Not so much because she might injure herself, but because she might rush through them otherwise and do something stupid. Fall, for example.

And falling on plaster or tile  _ did _ mean injuring herself. Even falling on carpet was risky business, especially if it was a particularly forceful fall.

She got up and went to the bathroom. Her steps were fairly slow. She had also learned to walk slowly in early morning, lest her groggy state - she had dreams often, so she woke up in a particularly groggy mood most of the time - caused her to fall.

She hadn’t walked slowly, at first. It was hard to teach yourself to automatically do something, especially so early in the morning.

Then she had tripped while going into the bathroom and gotten a, luckily fairly thin, fracture on both her hip and her skull.

She had learned quickly after that.

She flicked on the light and had to hold a hand to block it, eyes flaring and pupils dilating. She spent a long moment with closed eyes, simply growing accustomed to what little was able to shine through her eyelids, before trying to open them again.

She ended up having to go a solid forty seconds before she could keep her eyes open and it was safe to move again.

She leaned over the sink and stared into the eyes of her reflection.

Her icy blue sclera and thick black pupils stared back.

She sneered.

She was told that it was actually quite odd, that she had gotten that shade of blue in her eyes. She apparently didn’t have a very dangerous form of Osteogenesis Imperfecta, and she had managed to go without the slightly triangular face and barrel-shaped ribs. But for some reason, her eyes still came with that blue tint that was usually restricted to worse forms of OI, and she was still shorter then normal. Symptoms that were quite rare to find in type 1 and 4 - she apparently had something just between these two in severity.

She hated the fact that she knew the term Osteogenesis Imperfecta. That it rolled off her tongue so easily.

She had been forced to learn it.

Her reflection sneered back at her.

She brushed her teeth with the usual soft-bristled tooth brush. Once upon a time, she had preferred firmer bristles - but then her parents had realized that they had left that brush in the bathroom and taken it away, telling her firmly that-

_ (“Your teeth are brittle, Mera, they could fall out.”) _

She doubted that. Brushing with hard bristles probably wouldn’t make her teeth fall out, though it might help slightly. They were probably just being over-protective.

Still, she had learned to brush slow and steady. So that was what she did.

She was less careful in the shower. She was starting to wake up properly, and she had less of a chance of cracking her head from lack of attention when there was hot water blasting her. She liked to switch up which direction she turned the knob, and made sure to never pay attention when she did - so it was usually a surprise whenever she stepped in if the water was boiling hot or ice cold. It was certainly a way to make sure she always paid attention, and it kept her from growing too complacent.

When she finished, she slipped on some clothes - finally moving quickly and smoothly, now that she was entirely awake - and walked out the door.

She felt only the tiniest bit of bittersweet pride when she thought that nobody would’ve been able to tell she was anything less than normal, as she walked out with quick and purposeful steps.

The night was cold.

She quite liked the cold.

Her parents would probably kill her if they learned that she did this every morning, after so little sleep. She had cut out nearly half her sleep schedule to be able to do this every day without her parents being up, and she never once regretted it.

The tiny, homely 24-hour coffee shop spilled orange lights out onto the cold street as she stepped in and got herself a table.

* * *

_ “Not to worry, dear.” _

_ Mera didn’t believe her. _

_ She couldn’t say the words - they slipped off her tongue wrong and fumbled out of her mouth, mangled and broken. People laughed when that happened. Just as the kids would laugh when she fell off the slide and hit the ground. _

_ She couldn’t say the name of what was wrong with her, but she knew there was something. _

_ She knew that she couldn’t play with the other kids. That the snow outside was to be seen, not touched. That the ice was too slippery, and she might fall. And she couldn’t fall. _

_ She didn’t quite know why, but she didn’t have to. _

_ She wasn’t right. She wasn’t safe. _

_ And Mom was smiling brightly, and telling her the same thing over and over, as she clung desperately to the woman’s dress and looked up with pleading eyes. Eyes that Mom probably thought wanted her meaningless pleasantries and platitudes. _

_ She didn’t want to be told that there was nothing to worry about. _

_ But that was what Mom kept saying, over and over and over. _

_ “Not to worry, dear.” With that brittle smile that Mera could tell was just  _ _ wrong _ _ in some way. “It’s all okay.” _

_ That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. _

_ All she wanted to hear was that she could go out and touch snow for the first time. She had never seen snow, and she liked the pictures of it. Liked how it glittered on the ground. _

_ It didn’t matter if there was something to worry about, as long as she could go out and play in the snow. Play with this thing she had never seen before. _

_ But she couldn’t play with the other kids. Couldn’t be out in the cold anymore, lest she slip. _

_ She stared out the window, hand coming up and barely touching the ice-cold glass. _

_ Her hand curled into a fist, and a long nail left a single, thin scratch on the shining glass. _

_ She felt tears prickle behind her eyes. _

_...She decided, then and there, that if her body was so weak - then her mind couldn’t be. _

_ She was determined not to cry. _

_...She managed to make it through the night without a single brackish tear leaving her. _

_ “I will never. Cry. Again.” She whispered, staring out at the children playing happily in the snow. _

_ Her voice rang in the empty room with a strength she had never before possessed. _

* * *

“Molly!”

“Trixie.” She answered with a tired smile, before letting out a small ‘oof’ when a blur of hair and cloth hit her full speed and wrapped her in a fierce hug. She didn’t even have time to return it before the girl was pulling back with a wide, crack-toothed smile.

Molly couldn’t help but smile widely back.

The pink-haired girl wolf-whistled, looking her up and down. Molly didn’t even blush anymore when the girl began her usual routine.

“Wow, you’ve gotten  _ fit, _ huh?” Trixie elbowed her before hopping away to the kitchen. “Might have to re-consider going out with you.”

Molly rolled her eyes tiredly, though there was fondness in her smile as she sat down on the dark green couch and waited.

“No, Trix.”

“Friends with benefits?” The girl slid a plate of steaming eggs and a glass of milk in front of her, which she took with a resigned sigh.

She knew better then to try and convince the girl to take back the meal. Trixie never let her get away with missing dinner.

_ “No, _ Trix.” She grimaced when she glanced at the glass of milk. “What’ve I told you about ice?”

“It’ll help wake you up!” The girl chirped in response, scooching the milk forward slightly.

“I woke up eight hours ago, Trix.”

“Yeah, and then you went to  _ work.” _ Trixie responded with a sharp eye. “I doubt that you’re  _ actually _ awake. Besides, we’ve gotta go out tonight!”

She winced. In an instant, Trixie’s eyes were sharp upon her.

“...Right? Because we’ve had this planned for at  _ least _ three days, so  _ surely _ you wouldn’t have to do  _ another _ pile of paperwork.”

She hunched in on herself and sent the girl an apologetic, shamed glance.

“...I’ve  _ really _ got some important stuff to do, Trix…”

The girl sighed lowly.

“You’ve  _ gotta _ get out there, Molly.” She hopped out of her seat and sat next to Molly, sliding close and ruffling her hair. She ducked away from the hand with only a small smile.

“I swear - it’s like you think  _ working _ is all your life is ever gonna be!”

The girl leaned in with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows, and whispered in a throaty tone-

“Don’t make me  _ force _ you…”

Molly leaned away with a helpless giggle, and batted at the girl.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Trix.”

“Well, can you blame me?” The girl answered happily, leaning back and folding her hands on her stomach. “I swear, doll, you grow cuter and cuter every day.”

“We already  _ tried _ the relationship thing, remember?” She answered, looking down at the girl reproachfully. “Didn’t work out? Left us on the rocks for weeks? Any of this ringing a bell?”

“Nope! As a matter of fact…”

The girl sat up and leaned her back against the couch with a predatory glint in her eyes. 

“Why not give it a shot  _ right now,  _ eh?”

Molly couldn’t help but laugh at the girl.

“Come on, Trix - let me up.” She said with a grin, pushing the pink-haired girl weakly.

“But why should I, when I have you so helpless?” 

The girl leaned down and burrowed into her neck, licking at her pulse point. Molly couldn’t help the tiny, helpless shudder that ran down her spine, though she was quick to repress the movement.

Trixie still must’ve noticed, though, because she growled into her throat with a triumphant grin.

“Come  _ on, _ Trix.” She tried again, though her voice was gaining a slight note of hesitance.

And Trixie pounced on that note like a lion. She barely nipped at her sensitive skin in that tiny, adorable way she  _ knew _ would drive Molly crazy.

And, indeed, Molly melted into the couch with a tiny ‘hmn’.

“Come on yourself, doll.” The girl whispered, a throaty note in her voice as she leaned back and grinned down at her.

And she  _ knew _ that Molly liked when she played the dominant, the little minx.

“Bet you’ve had a long day…” She whispered suggestively into her ear, which caused another shiver to run down her spine. This time, she made no effort to repress the movement. “You’ve already cancelled our plans… might as well end the day with a  _ bang _ anyway, right?”

She couldn’t help but snort at the pun, though it quickly became another repressed ‘hmn’ when Trixie nipped suggestively at her ear.

“Triiiiix, come on… don’t do this to me…” She whined helplessly. “I’ve had a rough night, don’t take advantage like this…”

“Well, if you’ve had a rough night…” The girl who  _ clearly _ had the upper hand responded, “why not end it on a high note?”

“Because -  _ hmn-” _

She  _ really _ began to lose her backbone as Trixie nipped at her neck again.

“Because we’ve already given the relationship thing a try, and it didn’t work out?” She offered, though her voice was filled with unsureness.

She should’ve expected this, really, should’ve prepared herself, she  _ knew _ Trixie was far better then her with reading people and luring them into bed, and she had made it incredibly clear since… well,  _ ever, _ that she found Molly cute as hell.

And they had already been in bed together, too, which simply made it all the easier for the girl. She should’ve seen this coming a mile away, Trixie pulled this routine nearly every day.

But she had never thought it could  _ actually _ lead anywhere, much less all the way to the bedroom.

“Yeah, we tried the relationship thing, but it didn’t work out because, A:”

The girl licked the crest of her ear to emphasize the word. Her hands helplessly reached up and tangled into the pink-dyed, tied back hair, and a tiny noise managed to escape her throat.

“We were barely sixteen at the time, and B:”

She went for the neck this time. Molly wriggled in her grasp like prey.

“Neither of us are very good with commitment.”

“No,  _ you _ aren’t very good with commitment.” She corrected softly.

“Well, either way, maybe if we tried something more…  _ open…” _

The tomboy trailed off suggestively.

“Well…”

_ I really,  _ _ really _ _ shouldn’t. _

But she had had  _ such _ a long day…

“...Maybe… just this once…”

Trixie leaned back and grinned triumphantly, before rewarding her by stripping off her top. Molly had forgotten the sensation of her breath catching in her throat, and the odd, bubbling heat in her gut as she couldn’t help but instantly fall helplessly in love with Trixie all over again.

It never did end up going to the bedroom after all.

* * *

When the morning came, Trixie apologized for pushing her in an instant. She had, apparently, been pregaming a bit in preparation for going out that night, and had never intended for the flirting to go as far as it did.

Molly had smiled helplessly as she forgave the girl with a quiet,

“That was the best sleep I’ve had all week.”

Trixie had grinned, eyes alight with pride.   


“Love you, Mol.”

“Love you too, Trix.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm totally gonna write a Trix/Molly smut scene and link it here after I'm done. I love Trix so much that it's not even okay.
> 
> Not quite sure how much it felt like Trixie was pushing Molly a bit too hard there at the end. It didn't quite feel immoral to me, especially considering they've already been in a relationship before and Molly did give consent, but I decided to add a bit of alcohol to the mix there just in case. I don't want Trixie to be forcing anyone into anything if she's in a right state of mind, especially since she comes off as such a good friend to me.
> 
> Typing With Black Polished Nails,
> 
> -Howard R.


	3. Romantics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Molly can't play piano very well, and Mera begins an interesting new endeavor that may turn out one of two ways.

“What will it be?”

She glanced up at the serenely smiling blond waitress, abandoning her study of the wooden table pattern.

“Just a cup of-”

“Black coffee, right?” The blonde finished for her, voice matter-of-fact. Mera blinked.

“Er - yeah.”

“Coming right up.”

The blonde - who Mera pinned at about five years younger then her, if her eyes didn’t deceive her - walked away with hushed, perfectly coordinated steps, as if measuring every stride.

She only let her eyes trace the lines of the girl’s long legs for a tiny moment before forcing her mind onto safer tracks.

She propped her arm on the table by her elbow and laid her head against her palm, ready to wait.

She had learned patience a long time ago.

* * *

“Heart and soul…”

Her fingers tripped clumsily along the keys, barely keeping pace with her singing. She had never been any good with piano, despite a lesson or two in her youth, but she had worked to be decent at the left hand of Heart and Soul - if only so she could sing it with a backing track.

“I fell in love with you, heart and soul~...”

And Trix’s sunny voice suddenly joined her, a grin sparkling in her tone.

“Just like a fool would do,”

The tomboy fell into the seat next to her on the piano bench, and she couldn’t help but grin as she picked up the piano track flawlessly. Her fingers left the keys and she flashed Trixie a grateful look, who simply grinned back and sung the next line.

“Maaad-ly~ because you held me tight!”

“And stole a kiss… in the night…” Molly whispered, voice full of romanticism. Trixie didn’t try and sing that line with her.

The notes faded.

_“...That_ is why it didn’t work out.” Trixie said suddenly, breaking the heavy silence. Molly sent her a curious glance.

“Huh?”

“You’re a romantic!” Trix cried dramatically, falling back onto the bench with a hand on her chest.

She felt fire crawl up her cheeks.

“Am _not.”_

“Are too.” Trix fired back, sending her a _look._

“Am not.”

“Are too. Come on, you know I’ll win this.” Trixie said with a triumphant grin.

Molly sighed with resignation. The tomboy instantly picked up on her success and elbowed the lime-eyed girl, a conspiratorial glint in her eye.

“Come on, no need to be ashamed!” She chided with a smile. “I find it quite endearing, actually.”

A tiny smile tugged at Molly’s lips.

“...Thanks…”

“But the problem is, you’re a romantic, and _I’m…”_

She trailed off.

“Well, _me.”_ She finished, voice oozing finality. “We’re meant to be best friends, not anything more. Because you’re looking for a _lover_ and I’m looking for a _partner.”_

Molly straightened, a retort on her lips, before forcefully swallowing it.

She considered the words. Slowly, her resolve broke, and she unraveled on the bench, shoulders sagging.

“...Yeah.” She finally whispered. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“You need to learn to have _fun,_ girl!” Trixie crowed, sitting up again and leaning against the piano. Molly winced heavily at the loud _bang_ of the piano keys, her misophonia instantly rearing its ugly head, and Trix sent her an apologetic glance.

“Er - sorry.”

“It’s no problem.” She said quietly. “Used to it.”

“...You need to learn to have some fun.” Trixie repeated, voice a little softer this time. “Get in a relationship for the sex - and maybe the cuddles.”

“...We _did_ have some good cuddles.” Molly admitted quietly.

“You’re quite warm.” Trixie answered with a sagely nod, which made Molly giggle.

“...But… isn’t that kinda… using someone?”

Trixie rolled her eyes and slung an arm over her shoulder.

_“Molly._ I swear, you’re the smartest person I know, but sometimes you’re so _clueless.”_

“...Sorry…”

The tomboy sighed, and jostled her slightly.

“A _joke,_ Molly. That was a joke. Try not to take it so seriously, right?”

“Oh… uh, right… sorry…”

“Molly, I swear to god if you don’t stop apologizing I’m going to fuck you.” Trixie said, with a perfect deadpan. Molly couldn’t help but snort.

“No you won’t.”

“Bet!” The girl crowed. “I’ll go get a strap-on right now - and you _know_ I’ve got one.”

She leered suggestively at the girl, wiggling her eyebrows.

“And you also know _just_ how good I am with it…”

Molly leaned away with a giggle, pushing at her face. “Come on, be serious Trix…”

“Never!” The girl cried, hopping up and putting a betrayed hand against her chest. “I’m offended you would even ask such a thing, Molly!”

Molly covered her smile with a tan hand.

“Okay - we’re going out tonight, right?” Trixie said, peering at her sharply. She spent a moment to check her mental schedule, and winced.

“Er - well, I never _did_ end up getting that paperwork done last night… you kinda… distracted me.”

Trixie’s spine loosened as she sighed, as if the strength was leaving her with the breath. Molly winced again.

“...Sorry, Trix - I’d like to, but-”

“Welp.” Trixie said suddenly. “I warned you.”

“...Huh?”

“Prepare to be fucked, Molly.” Trixie said, a predatory glint in her eyes.

“Wha - no! That doesn’t count, I was distracted!” Molly cried instantly, a grin trying to tug at her lips.

Trixie shrugged, and swept forward, grabbing her shoulders and leaning her against the piano. Her hands fumbled for purchase and found the keys, and an unholy sound left the black beast of an instrument. She winced slightly, but wasn’t able to focus on the sound with Trixie leaning close enough that she could smell the licorice gum on her breath.

“Y’know, if there was a time to get into a relationship for the sex…” Trixie whispered suggestively, wiggling her eyebrows again. If Molly had been more vulnerable, she might’ve found her breath trapped in her ribs and been unable to find a response, but with rational thought flowing freely, she simply giggled at the antics and shoved the girl firmly away.

“Won’t work on me _this_ time, you minx.” She said triumphantly, putting a pair of proud hands on her hips.

“Well, aren’t you a good girl?” Trix purred. 

She froze.

“Not fair.” She whispered, eyes wide.

“Not my fault you have a praise kink, Mol.” Trixie said with a careless shrug, though a glitter in her eyes gave her away. “So what if I just _happen_ to compliment you - I mean, I can hardly help it with that beautiful singing voice of your’s tampering with my thoughts…”

“No - no, you can’t do that, that’s cheating!”

Trixie rolled her eyes but gave up on the flirting. She hopped out into the hall with barely a thought, giving her a parting two-finger wave and ‘seeya!’.

Molly sat there for a long moment before realizing that she was helplessly turned on, with no outlet for it.

* * *

“Your coffee.”

She glanced up at the blonde and took the steaming cup with a nod, sipping at it serenely and staring out the window.

After a long moment, though, she noticed that the waitress hadn’t left.

“...Yes?” Mera said, voice cold as ice. The blonde’s eyes darted away from her’s, and she tried to repress the sneer that rose to her lips. Unsettled by her eyes, clearly - understandable, but still annoying.

She expected the usual question to leave the girl’s lips - ‘what’s up with your eyes,’ if she was polite and perceptive, ‘what’s wrong with you,’ if she was neither of those things.

But instead, the blonde seemed to steel herself, and said,

“...I was wondering. Why do you only come in at four o’ clock in the morning?”

Mera blinked, suddenly off-guard.

“...Uh - well, I have quite a bit to do during the day.” She answered, voice quietly attentive, before gathering herself once more and sneering. “And besides, isn’t morning the _normal_ time for coffee?”

Her voice _oozed_ condescension. The blonde blinked, as if confused by her question.

“Yes. It is. Did you not know that?”

“I - what?”

She stumbled slightly over the words, feeling off-kilter in a conversation for the first time in three years.

“Did you not know that?” The girl repeated obediently.

Mera shook off her surprise like water and sneered at the girl, who she could see more clearly now was an absolute idiot.

“It was a rhetorical question-” She glanced at the nametag. “Phoenica.”

The girl blinked.

“Ah. Right. Of course.”

There was a pause, during which Phoenica stared blankly into nothing with what Mera decided was her thinking expression.

“Well, coffee is normally a morning beverage.” The girl said, voice serene and with the smallest touch of an accent that Mera couldn’t quite put her finger on. “But four o’ clock in the morning is not quite the normal time for any type of activity, much less going to an eatery.”

“Well, perhaps it’s your own fault for having the shop open at all hours then, hm?” Mera answered with an eye roll. Phoenica blinked again.

“...Perhaps. Then again, perhaps not.”

Mera scoffed. The blonde stared at her for a moment.

“...Scoffing is rude.” She said suddenly.

Mera stared at her, completely uncomprehending, for a long moment - before breaking out into laughter.

She wiped her eyes with a happy sigh, and was about to retort when Phoenica cut her off at the pass.

“So is laughing at people.”

Mera rolled her eyes at the idiotic twenty-something and opened her mouth to retort.

“So is rolling your eyes.” The blonde said, cutting her off yet again with a serene, seemingly impossibly imperceptive voice.

“And sneering.” The girl went on before she could even try to formulate a response again.

“You are rude.” Phoenica went on, peering at her in a clouded way that seemed to scream ‘crazy person.’ “You should apologize. It is polite to apologize when you have done something rude, after all.”

Mera let out a disbelieving breath and stared at the _clearly_ insane person standing before her.

...And yet, despite that…

“...What if I don’t care about being polite?”

She was enjoying a conversation for the first time in years.

The blonde blinked once more - something Mera was now assuming to be a common show of surprise for the girl - and tilted her head.

“Well, then you do not care about being polite.” The girl answered, peering at her. “But everyone should be polite. If everyone was polite, the world would be a much happier place.”

“Mmmhmm.” She hummed nondescriptly, raising an eyebrow at Phoenica. “Well, forgive me if I don’t take advice from someone with a name starting with ‘P-H’.”

Phoenica blinked. “Of course I will forgive you. You should always forgive people if they ask and the offence is not too big - after all, if everyone forgave everyone for small offenses, we would never have nonsensical grudges. But I do not see why you would want my forgiveness, and I also do not see why you would not take my advice.”

She tilted her head.

“Are my suggestions not logical and moral? I see no reason not to take them into consideration, at least.”

Mera took only the smallest moment to acknowledge that she was enjoying this conversation before answering.

“Because your suggestions are pipe dreams.” She deadpanned, giving the girl a flat glare. “Sure, it would be nice if everyone was unfailingly polite - but they won’t be. And if nobody’s going to be polite, shouldn’t you return the favor?”

“If the world isn’t fair, why should you be?”

Phoenica stared at her.

“That is a logical fallacy.” She said quietly. “Chasing dreams is a worthy endeavor. And besides-”

The girl’s eyes suddenly lit up.

...Mera was struck by the fact that she was beautiful so suddenly and forcefully that she actually flinched a bit.

“‘ _An eye for an eye, and the world goes blind._ ’”

The tone of her voice had shifted in the same way her eyes had - suddenly deepening and opening up like pools of salty seawater.

“...Gandhi.” Mera said quietly, staring at the girl with newfound attention. “Most people only know the first half of that quote, you know.”

And the girl returned that interest in her own stare, eyes still oddly deep and brewing with some unknown purpose.

“Yes. I do know.”

They spent a moment simply staring, each blatantly studying the other for what they had missed at a first glance.

After the moment passed, Mera offered her hand to the girl.

“Mera. Salamin.” She introduced, voice clipped.

“Phoenica Fleecity the fifteenth.” The blonde answered, taking the hand and looking at her with eyes that swirled like smog. “It is nice to meet you, Mera Salamin.”

She hesitated for a long, long moment.

“...You too, Phoenica.”

The girl seemed to think for a moment.

“...Please. Call me Feenie.” She smiled a serene smile. “Phoenica, I am told, is a bit of a mouthful.”

Mera snorted.

“You can say that again.”

Phoenica - or Feenie, now, she supposed - blinked.

“Of course I can, Mera.”

Mera decided that this was either the start of a fruitful friendship, or the stupidest mistake she had ever made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'll bite - what do you think of my Feenie and Trix? I'll admit, they aren't exactly the normal depiction - at least, I don't think they are, I haven't read many fics in this fandom - but I can't help but love every character I write. Then again, I'm obviously biased, so tell me what you think. I'm very curious to see if I've managed to ruin two great characters.
> 
> Typing With Black Polished Nails,
> 
> -Howard R.


	4. Dreaming of Sunsets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Feenie talks about dreams.

Let it be known that Mera never intended to become good friends with Phoenica - Feenie, now.

She wasn’t quite sure how it had happened.

Maybe the biggest reason was because she needed coffee nearly hourly to keep her crappy sleep schedule on track and make sure she didn’t snap at anyone and everyone. Not that she was exactly the kindest person if she  _ did _ get coffee, but still. She was better, at least.

And Domum Cafe was the only place that sold decent coffee in a sixty mile radius.

Feenie, apparently, thought being acquaintances meant that every time they saw each other they needed to talk. Not that she was wrong, of course, but talking with Feenie was never a ‘oh, hey, how are you’ affair.

Instead, it would start like that - and then Feenie would say something stupid or ridiculous or, more rarely, genuinely interesting, and it would start a conversation.

Eventually, Mera just gave up and invited Feenie to sit with her every time the blonde served her coffee. And Feenie apparently got a employee discount and was a big tea fan.

So they ended up sitting down roughly six times a day, with a cup of steaming black coffee and/or tea in front of them, and just talking for ten minutes at the very least.

It hindsight, Mera shouldn’t have been surprised when Feenie ended up being her best friend after just a bit of time.

Mera didn’t really have friends, either. It wasn’t that she couldn’t force herself to be likable - she could, and she had been pushed into doing so multiple times. No, it was just that Mera didn’t like people.

At all.

But somehow, she managed to hate Feenie almost as much as she liked her.

The girl rarely talked about herself, which was refreshing in and of itself. She seemed far more interested in discussions of hypotheticals and ideals then any talk of reality.

Mera was inclined to agree with her on that front, even if she thought hiding in your imaginary world to escape the real one was a fantasy not worth trying to make work.

But she soon learned that Feenie wasn’t interested in hiding away in an imaginary world, though what she wanted instead was far more crazy.

Instead, she wanted to make the real world into something just as enjoyable to be in.

She sought to do this only on a small scale - by making sure the people in her life were only those who would fit into her dream world. She said that Mera didn’t quite fit cleanly, but;

“You are fascinating, so I suppose you could occupy the museum - show what this world was like before it was made perfect.”

Mera had thanked her. From Feenie, that was quite a compliment, though the thanks had been mostly sarcastic.

That was another thing - Feenie didn’t seem to understand sarcasm. Or subtlety. Or much of anything that wasn’t explicit, really. The girl would simply blink, and respond in some mind-numbing fashion or other.

Mera had asked, once, if there was anyone else she had fit into her little world.

“Two people have managed to make the cut.” The blonde had responded serenely, staring at her with those baby-blue eyes of her’s. “Not including you, of course.”

“Of course.” She had said, with only the slightest sarcastic lilt in her voice.

For some reason, though, she found herself utterly fascinated by Feenie’s dream world.

“There would never be any clouds.” The girl had said once, at a completely random moment and without a segway of any kind. “Not one. The sky would be perfectly clear, and me and you would watch every sunset together.”

The girl had looked away from the window, condensation forming on its surface, and locked eyes with her then.

“You wouldn’t watch the sunrise with me, though. Dawn is the time for threes - dusk is the time for twos.”

Feenie made statements like that sometimes. Ridiculous ones, that seemed to have nothing to do with anything.

“We would watch the sunset together, and there wouldn’t be a cloud in the sky. Neither of us would talk. There would be a statue in the distance - polished limestone. It would be of the goddess Venus, portrayed with the body of a venus flytrap. We would both have a cup of hot chocolate, with marshmallows on the surface. Floating.”

Mera wanted to know more about Feenie’s world, but the girl, for some reason, didn’t talk about it much. She would just occasionally burst out with some detail about it or other. Questions never led anywhere.

But still, she tried to ask.

  
“Would there be music?”

And Feenie’s eyes, which had drifted to the window again, suddenly locked onto her. Sharp.

“...Yes.”

Mera had blinked, not expecting the girl to actually answer.

“Yes, there would be. Beethoven’s symphonies would be played in the theater every night, and you and Molly and I would all go see them played together.”

“Molly?” She whispered, voice wavering slightly as she was finally offered more information. The chance to ask questions.

Feenie glanced down at her cup of tea, and swirled her spoon in it.

“...What is your favorite of Beethoven’s symphonies?”

And Mera knew the topic had just been closed.

“...All the buildings would have blue roofs.”

Mera glanced up from her book at Feenie, who was staring off into nothing. She leaned in slightly, knowing that the blonde would elaborate, and folded her hands on the table.

“They would shine in the afternoon, the same colour as the sky. And the walls would never be a clashing colour. They would be purple, or white, or orange. Every surface would be perfectly polished on those walls, but the insides wouldn’t quite be clean. A little messy, a little lived in. To show that the place wasn’t a wasteland. To make it feel like home.”

“Mugs would litter the tables,” the girl went on, eyes covered by a fog and a hand reaching up gingerly - as if beckoning to the image before her, trying to get it to manifest. “Some of them empty, some of them full. But nobody would ever leave something undrunk - they would always empty their cup by the end of the day. It is only polite. And there would be a block of knives in every kitchen, made of unblemished damascus steel.”

The girl trailed off, staring into nothing. Slowly, her hand fell.

“...Do you know what your Zodiac is, Mera?”

And Feenie’s world had vanished into the background again, to resurface only when it was called upon.

Mera thought, sometimes, that Feenie didn’t like to talk about her world. She wasn’t sure why that could be, but the way the girl acted made it seem that way - made it seem like she just sometimes  _ needed _ to say something about it,  _ needed _ to talk about her unrealized vision for the future.

Feenie, sometimes, would just begin to ask about her. She seemed intensely curious about all things, so it was no wonder she sometimes just asked about details in her life.

But it was never anything normal, of course.

“What is your favorite body of water?”

“Do you prefer drinks that are cold, or hot?”

“Do you think film is a more or less valid art medium than literature?”

“What is your opinion on dark chocolate?”

“Can you play an instrument?”

She rarely had to think very long before giving an answer.

“The Red Sea.”

“Cold, but coffee is my favorite despite that.”

“All forms of art are equally valid.” That answer in particular had clearly pleased Feenie.

“Love it.”

“Yes.”

“What instrument or instruments can you play?” Feenie had asked, peering across at her with those unapproachable eyes.   


“Just piano. I’m not a savant or anything, but I like to think I do okay.”

And the girl always responded the same way - a simple, firm nod, as if she was storing the information for later.

Maybe she was.

Mera thought it was fair to say that Feenie wasn’t perfectly sane - but she also would hit someone for saying that in front of her.

That was probably the best summary of her feelings on the blonde.

And besides - who out there is really  _ perfectly _ sane anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit shorter then usual, but that felt like a nice note to end on.
> 
> Enjoying the story so far? Because I really am.
> 
> Typing With Black Polished Nails,
> 
> -Howard R.


	5. Slipping Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Molly plays guitar.

**Red Hot Chili Peppers: Hotel California**

**C l a s s i c a l G a s**

_ Best of Vivaldi _

“Uh, guys.” She called, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. “I think your records got mixed in with mine.”

Trixie swept in like a Tasmanian Devil, falling on her knees and examining the records in question. She grinned widely when she spotted the  _ Hotel California _ single and grabbed it like a lifeline.

“Ooh, this is a good ‘un.” She crowed, licking her lips like it was some particularly good steak she had just been served. “Hey, Feenie, come in here - Molly’s got some of your nerd music!”

Feenie poked her head out from the doorway, eyes cloudy. “Oh, I am sorry - what was that, Bellatrix?”

“Molly’s got one of your records.” Trixie repeated slightly more sedately, holding the Vivaldi record between her thumb and forefinger.

“Oh. Could you please bring it in here, Bellatrix - I am afraid that the cake is providing… trouble.”

“Uh - hope you don’t think I can help.” Trixie responded, standing and dusting off her jeans. “I’ll set something on fire if you trust me with cooking.”

She didn’t notice Molly’s eyes flash for the smallest moment, before she quickly redirected her attention to the records.

She held  _ Classical Gas _ at arms length, the tiniest smile touching her lips.

Trixie, Feenie and she had started collecting records when-

...When she was about ten.

Yeah, when she was about ten. They had all been friends for a year or two by then, and they had started collecting, with a significant headstart of about twenty records or so. Trixie had always been a bigger VHS fan - she was obsessed with pretty much anything 80s related - but she had been happy to take on a record hunt when Molly had insisted on it. Feenie…

Well, none of them had quite been sure how Feenie felt about the whole thing, but she had hunted just as religiously as Trixie had.

Classical Gas had come along with that headstart of twenty, and Molly had fallen in love with the song - particularly the first minute or so - at the age of eight.

And now, nine years later, she hadn’t listened to it for quite a while.

She hesitated. Her thumb stroked the surface of the dusty sleeve.

She stood up and adjusted the needle on the record player that she had just been about to pack, quickly scooping up her guitar by the neck as she did.

She put it on with a scratch and quickly flopped down, putting her crappy six year old Takamine between her legs, and prepared herself as hastily as she could, fingers on the first chord.

Luckily, the song started slow, so she only stumbled through for the first chord or so before slipping into a groove.

She had counted once how long it took to pick up - about twenty seconds.

Her fingers began to fly along the strings.

When she had dedicated herself to learning the song, that had been her biggest problem. She had poor depth perception, and she had just been beginning. And let it be known that Classical Gas is  _ not _ a beginner’s guitar song. She had still looked at the fingers on her left hand, careful to slip through chords quickly and smoothly as possible - fingers often scratching along the guitar strings noisily and clumsily fumbling for the right hand shapes.

Now, she looked at her right hand, trusting her left to do its job flawlessly.

She knew the chord shapes now.

She slipped back into the song like an old sweater - comfortable and familiar, and warm as a cup of hot cocoa.

She abused the strings, plucking them so hard a novice would be worried about them snapping. The chorus was actually quite easy, compared to the fumbling finger-picking she had to do for the pre-chorus - just hard-plucked strings and finding the right chords.

She hung her head and closed her eyes, neck swinging with the rhythm. 

1:12.

That was when her break came, a solace which she had taken with gratitude when she was learning the song. The horns played their triumphant chords and she waited, throat tight and an aching kind of warmth flowing through her - warm, familiar, and bittersweet.

1:33 came, and she had to play again - a simple enough loop before the key changed to something less dark.

The buildup came again. Her nails  _ popped _ away from the strings with strength not befitting her stature, and her eyes bubbled with ferocity not her own.

And the chorus.

She gritted her teeth, lips tight, and scrunched her face with the chords.

Line. It was a repeat - she played it with less strength then before.

The pitch began to climb. The horns joined again. The buildup came.

And the song tapered off into nothing, silver notes sharp and ringing like fire alarms as they faded.

She hung her head for a moment, eyes hazy.

“...Mol.”

And that was Trixie’s voice.

She lifted her head but didn’t turn around. Hands pulled her hair back to expose her ear, and she felt warm lips pressed to her neck.

“That was beautiful, doll.” Her girlfriend whispered.

Her voice was filled with understanding.

“...Thanks.”

There was blissful silence.

“...I must confess, Molly, that the guitar is not my instrument.” Feenie said suddenly from the doorway, voice dreamy. “But your fingers have magic in them.”

She laughed softly, leaning against Trixie - whose head was still on her shoulder, face burrowed into her skin.

“Thanks, Feenie.” She said, voice normal again. “How’s the cake coming?”

“Oh, most horribly.” The girl said serenely, which made both her and Trixie burst into laughter.

The heaviness in the air vanished.

“We should probably just order one, eh love?” Trixie said, nipping her earlobe. She shivered.

For some reason, the tomboy insisted on doing things like that from time to time now that they were together.

“Eh. If you guys wanna.”

There was a pause.

“No.”

Molly glanced back at Feenie, who had a rare look in her eyes - like a shiny blue fire, licking at her pupils.

“No, we will just try again. It will go right eventually.”

Molly blinked, unsure why she had that look in her eye. Feenie only ever got like this at the big moments.

She had looked like this at Mom’s funeral, when she went up to talk. Molly hadn’t quite been able to, so Feenie had volunteered to do it for her.

She had never realized that Feenie could give a wonderful speech.

“Bellatrix? I would appreciate your help - this monstrosity needs to be scrapped, and you are quite good at scrapping.” Feenie said, voice serene once more. Trix grinned and got up, giving her one last kiss on the cheek before hopping off.

Molly smiled as she set her guitar aside and slipped the record back in its place.

_ I wonder if Mom would’ve liked that as much as Feenie and Trix did. _

Molly decided that she would’ve, as she straightened and dusted off her knees, putting the record player into a box and taping it shut - ready for the moving van.

She was ready to leave this chapter of her life behind.

* * *

Five years later, she restocked the shelves of the toy store with tired hands and looked out the windows, wondering when exactly her plans to leave it all behind had crumbled to dust - slipping between her fingers as her life looped in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get a Mera POV chapter of 1.2k words - and a Molly POV one of the same length on the same day. Makes sense to me.
> 
> I planned to have Feenie see the Vivaldi record and mention that it wasn't any good and that Four Seasons was his only noteworthy work, but decided that that would be a bit petty of me. Though I also can't see Feenie liking Vivaldi much either - his music seems a bit too... aimless, for what I imagine her tastes to be.
> 
> I imagine every character I make being good at one instrument, to help me flesh them out a bit more in my head. Feenie plays flute in my mind, Molly plays guitar, Mera plays piano - just the really dark stuff, like Gnoisse 1 - and Trixie plays bass. As a side note, though they aren't in this yet, I imagine Sylvie playing violin and Giovanni being uncomfortably good at skateboarding.
> 
> ...What do you mean skateboard isn't an instrument?
> 
> Typing With Black Polished Nails,
> 
> -Howard R.


	6. Epilogue: Not a Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sylvie has a small existential crisis.

Slyvester Ashling was, simply put, a genius.

There wasn’t much to be debated there, really. He was a genius, through and through. He had conquered the American education system at the age of fifteen-

_ (Yes, he did think of it as ‘conquered’. It was an enemy to be beaten, a stepping stone to success - not an ally.) _

-and managed to get a degree in psychology, one of the most demanding jobs in known history. Really, he had been given the monumental task of understanding the human brain because he had a brain capable of doing so.

Yes, Sylvie was a genius, no contest.

The only problem was, he was a  _ kid _ genius. Which meant that nobody took him seriously despite that, and he could hardly keep himself afloat despite his generous rates because not a single person wanted to tell all their problems to someone younger then 21.

It was only because he had a crappy apartment and too much time on his hands that he learned to yo-yo.

He had never  _ once _ actually intended to be any  _ good _ with such a childish toy. And, really, he hadn’t even been trying to be any good with it.

But he soon learned that the yo-yo was a  _ fascinating _ puzzle, hidden under the facade of a childish toy. Learning how it functioned, taking it apart piece by piece and peering into its workings, understanding its mysteries - it was a truly  _ wonderful _ exercise in futility, and he was swept away into its clutches without realizing what was happening.

It was when he flawlessly walked the dog on the street and someone stopped him that he began to realize that he had accidentally become good at yo-yoing.

“Hey, kid - can you do around the world?”

He had almost shouted his usual ‘I’m not a kid!’, but stopped himself.

Instead, he went with the cooler option. The option that would make people stare in awe, and truly  _ understand _ that he wasn’t just any old kid.

He cocked his wrist and swung the yo-yo around, pivoting the toy past his shoulder three times before reaching out his other hand and stopping it. The yo-yo folded in on itself and landed on its string, still spinning, before he let it bounce back and jerked it to his palm with an audible  _ slap. _

“I’m not,” he said dramatically, pushing his glasses up on his nose so they flashed as he grinned a cocky grin.

“A kid.”

And he had revelled in the shock of the crowd as he swept away, coat flapping in the wind.

Later, in his crappy apartment and trying to break his record of swings with ‘rock the baby’, he had jerked slightly and realized that he was good at yo-yoing.

At manipulating a children’s toy.

He twitched, eyes hazy, and was unable to think for a long, long moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes part one!
> 
> Yeah, this is separated into parts. Made it easier to structure things when I was laying out the plot. Part one is pretty short, I'm afraid, mostly because it's just establishing each character separately. This is chapter six, and so far, we've had a prologue establishing the premise of the story, that Mera POV flashback to establish her character, the implied smut scene meant mostly to establish Trixie, and the last two chapters were to establish the start of Molly's arc and Feenie's character respectively. Oh, and this is to establish Sylvie of course.
> 
> Though I've laid out quite a bit of this fic in my head, I still have no idea if Giovanni will appear. I'm almost certain that Ramsey, Percy and Indus won't, but I dunno. I might end up giving them a cameo, and then I might love writing that cameo so much that I give them a POV chapter of their own, and then I might give them a full role in the story. Hell, it's happened before.
> 
> Tell me what you think so far please. I love writing this, but I know I'm very late to be arriving to this fandom and I'm playing around with the characters quite a lot. So if you hate what I've done with anyone, please, fill me in.
> 
> Oh, and just so that there's no confusion about who I've aged up, since Sylvie is still the same age even though Molly isn't - I've aged up every member of the Neo Trio (and Molly's sister, if she ever appears) but everyone else is the same age. Cool? Cool.
> 
> Typing With Black Polished Nails,
> 
> -Howard R.


End file.
